by Catie Rhodes
Turgeau squeezed my arm. “Peri Jean? You all right?”
I jumped and shivered. Turgeau leaned close and looked into my eyes.
“Where did that guy hit you? Did that doctor check you for a concussion?” Turgeau took my elbow and guided me to the porch swing and forced me to sit.
I pushed him away. “I’m all right. Just…”
“No need to explain. It’s shocking. Listen, I just want to get some justice for your dead cousin. Nothing personal. It’s not an attack on you or your family…or your friends.” He took a card out of his uniform shirt pocket and wrote on the back before he handed it to me. “My cellphone number’s on the back. Call me if you think of anything else, no matter how silly it seems.”
I took the card and slid it into my back pocket.
“Sometimes…sometimes” —Dean looked out at the two-lane road in front of the house as though the right words might be there— “people surprise us. We think we know them, but we don’t.”
“Chase didn’t—”
“He may not have.” Turgeau held up his hand for me to stop. “But let me lay out an idea for you. We agree that the man who attacked you could have killed you. Both of us understand there’s a reason he let you live. What if he let you live because he’s Chase, and you guys have been friends since before you could talk?”
“That’s not what happened—“
“Just be careful, okay?” Turgeau put his hand on my shoulder. He was trying to be nice, but he was also accusing my oldest and dearest friend of the unthinkable. I shook him off.
“Memaw needs my help inside.” And I needed to get away from both Dean Turgeau and Rae’s spirit. They were more than I could handle at that moment. I didn’t want any part of whatever Rae wanted from me. Dean gave me too many mixed feelings. His looks appealed to me, but his complexity didn’t. I didn’t want his niceness or his concern. That could lead to more, and more scared me. More meant I could get hurt.
He descended the porch steps and strode down the concrete walk. As he passed through the gate—and Rae’s ghost—he jerked as though something had touched him. He glanced back at me and jerked a nod. I gave him a return nod and watched him go. Nice butt.
I went inside but not because Memaw had any immediate need for me. She and her friends sat talking in the living room. I grabbed my cellphone and called Chase to warn him. The call went straight to voicemail. I left a terse message that the sheriff’s office would be around to question him.
The evening passed with even more people stopping by the house to pay their respects and condolences. Most of them probably even meant it. Many brought food, as though the gesture bought them a front row ticket to the drama. Memaw entertained them with graciousness I never could have managed.
The only visitor I had was Eddie Kennedy. My father’s childhood best friend, Eddie had always been a fixture in my life. He heard the news about Rae late because he’d spent the day delivering handmade furniture to Shreveport, Louisiana. He stayed only fifteen minutes before leaving, telling me he couldn’t stand the cackling from Memaw’s fellow church ladies. I agreed with him but couldn’t leave. I hid out in the kitchen, brewing pot after pot of coffee and longing for the moment I could go in my room and shut the door.
Voices rose in the living room, and I peeked around the wall from the kitchen. Pastor Michael Gage stood right inside the front door smiling and shaking hands. I jerked back inside the kitchen, heart slamming against my ribcage. What a perfect end to a horrible day.
Michael Gage had blown into town and taken over pastor duties at Gaslight City First Baptist four years earlier. He took an immediate interest in me, which delighted Memaw. I didn’t share her enthusiasm.
Memaw poked her head into the kitchen. “Come out and say hello to Pastor Gage.”
I shook my head and busied myself washing coffee cups. Memaw came to stand next to me.
“He’s good-looking, and he likes you,” she whispered.
“He’s too old for me,” I whispered back. “He’s fifty if he’s a day.”
“So? You’ve dated young guys, and you can date older men. He might treat you better.”
“He pumps me for information about what it’s like to…” I paused here. Memaw didn’t like talking about my connection with paranormal. “See the things I see.”
Memaw’s eyes widened, and she wrinkled her nose. “Maybe he’s thinks he’s being polite. He won’t do that today. Just come out and speak to him. He’s already asked about you.”
“Let me finish this round of dishes.” I turned my attention back to the sink full of coffee cups and silverware.
Someone knocked on the door, and Memaw hurried back into the living room to greet them. I sagged with relief. No way I’d go out there and chat with Gage. The man creeped me out. I finished the dishes and tiptoed out to the back porch. I adopted a stooped duck walk as I skirted the house so nobody could see me through the windows. By some miracle, I made it to my window without incident and climbed inside my sanctuary.
It would irritate Memaw when she realized I had jumped ship. She’d just have to be upset. After finding my cousin murdered and tangling with her murderer, I couldn’t suffer Michael Gage’s attentions without screaming.
Gage’s soothing words drifted in from the living room and fell into a meaningless murmur. Good. Nobody saw or heard my escape and relocation. I opened my closet and looked for a dress fit for my cousin’s funeral. As my room cooled with the onset of evening, the dampness of tears on my cheeks became noticeable. I hadn’t been aware of crying.
Guilt cast the sharpest stone at my feelings—guilt that I didn’t try harder to rekindle my childhood camaraderie with Rae. I told Deputy Turgeau the truth about the way time and separate paths eroded my friendship with Rae. I’d thought I didn’t care, but I was wrong. I knelt on the floor near my closet, covered my face with my hands, and let the sobs come.
As the sky darkened to the color of spilled ink, the last car pulled out of the driveway. I wanted a shower in the worst way. I gathered my pajamas and robe and snuck down the hallway to the bathroom. Being in the shower gave me too much time to think. My last glimpse of Rae recurred every time I closed my eyes to rinse my face. Someone had done that to her, made her look like that. Turgeau’s words about how it took her a long time to die ran through my head. The running water masked my sobs, and I lingered until the hot water ran out.
When I pulled back the shower curtain, humid fog hung thick in the room. I cracked the door to allow some steam to escape. Voices drifted from the living room. Memaw had company. Who the heck had come by so late?
“That Turgeau guy contacted me.” Benny Longstreet’s nasal voice and rapid speech were impossible to mistake. “Now they’re trouncing all over my property, looking for who knows what. Probably running off my damn deer.”
Benny was the much younger half-brother of Dr. Longstreet. While Nathan doctored, Benny ran the family logging business. It employed the largest number of people countywide. Benny played the role of small town big shot to the hilt with his expensive cowboy suits and his luxury trucks. Never cars. Always monstrous trucks.
Memaw made a similar complaint of the garbage now littering the pasture near the trailer. Her voice sounded shaky, and I knew she wouldn’t hold out much longer. The day had worn us both down. My instinct was to go out and shoo Benny home, but I didn’t quite dare. Memaw loved both Longstreet brothers like family and might not appreciate my meddling.
“I can’t believe someone attacked Peri Jean,” Benny said. “Does she have any idea who did it?”
“I don’t guess,” Memaw said. “She was pretty confused. Slipped off to her room when the house got too crowded.”
“That girl’s always been a loner.” Benny’s chair creaked as he shifted. “If I ever find out who did that to her, I’ll whup his ass myself.”
I bit my lip as I pictured Benny—who resembled a male Olive Oyl—flailing at some opponent.
“Brittany Watson said they�
�re going to talk to Chase Fischer.” Memaw blew out a tired sigh. “She’s excited because Joey Holze picked her to assist that good-looking new Deputy. But I sure hate to see Chase dragged into this.”
“Joey’s hiring that Turgeau feller created some grumbling in the ranks.” He skillfully sidestepped mentioning Chase. Benny’s cowboy boots clopped across the hardwood floor, and the front door squeaked as he opened it.
“That so?” Memaw’s old recliner squealed as she stood to see Benny out.
“Yep. Joey hired Turgeau because he had homicide experience. But I heard he had some trouble back in Louisiana. The kind that nearly got him fired.” Benny would know. He had a finger in everything that went on in Burns County.
“So he decided to run away to backwoods Texas?” Memaw opened the door.
“Yep. Got shot in the leg back in Louisiana. Wife left him, and—”
Memaw closed the front door and cut off Benny’s words. Crap. Dean Turgeau interested me, and I wanted to know more.
The heat had escaped the old bathroom while I stood there with the door cracked. Chill bumps as big as anthills stood at attention all over my body. I yanked on my pajamas and hoped for no more visitors tonight.
Condensation covered the mirror, rendering my reflection vague and blurry. Behind me stood another shadow. I gasped and spun around to see Rae’s specter. My skin tightened at the sight of her. She still bore the injuries that caused her death, her white wife beater stained dark maroon with blood. Vertical slits where the knife had gone in made a random pattern across her chest. One cheek was slit open, revealing her gum and teeth. Her smoke-colored eyes stared straight ahead, the same way they had when I found her. A scream built inside me, but I cut it off. No need to alarm Memaw.
Rae’s energy pulled at mine, wanting contact, wanting my help. The room’s temperature dropped, and all the oxygen seemed to leave the room. My chest ached as I hyperventilated and fought to stay conscious. I put my shaking hands over my face and took deep breaths. When I dropped my hands, Rae was still there. This can’t be. The bottle tree outside the house always kept the spirits out before.
“What do you want?” I whispered.
In the condensation covering the mirror, a line appeared. Then another, and another. The word “FAVOR” took shape like a scene in one of those straight-to-DVD horror movies. It had been a stupid question. Of course, she wanted her favor. Only now, whatever she’d originally wanted had changed. Now, she wanted me to solve her murder.
“I don’t know how.” I swayed on my feet. A thief in death as life, Rae had used my life force to power her little magic trick. Dizziness set in, and my lips tingled.
Rae appeared in front of me, close enough to kiss me if she’d been alive. Black spots danced before my eyes as panic took root. Rae drew so close it seemed she’d stepped into me. I shivered in the intense cold, my fingers aching with it. The bathroom lights winked out. The only sounds were my teeth chattering and my whistling gasps.
The interior of an old building came into focus. Its gray wooden walls buckled with age. It was so real, the air smelled musty and unused. This vision through a spirit wasn’t my first, but that didn’t make it any easier to understand.
Junk filled the room in my vision. A sheet-covered rocking chair rocked by itself. A steamer trunk sat next to the chair. Someone’s handprints smeared the thick coat of dust covering the trunk. The setting was familiar, but I couldn’t place it. The smell of dust tickled my nose. I sneezed and broke free of the vision and found myself laid out on the chilly bathroom floor.
The clock radio on the counter crackled to life, blaring War’s “Low Rider.” I scrambled to my feet and saw that the radio was set on off. I unplugged it to stop the racket. No more cowbell.
The throb of a headache worked its way up my neck and around my head and exploded behind my eyes. Something cool and wet dripped across my upper lip. Sweat? I pressed the towel to my face.
The front door closed as Memaw came back inside. She thumped down the hallway and pushed the bathroom door open. Her eyes widened at the sight of me.
“Your nose is bleeding.” She grabbed the towel from me and used it to dab my face. “What happened?”
I shook my head. Memaw and I never discussed my weird little talent. It upset her if I mentioned it. Over the years, I adopted a don’t-ask-don’t-tell policy.
“I’ll call Dr. Longstreet.” Memaw turned toward the door.
“What if I promise to go see him tomorrow? I have to clean his office anyway.” I washed the blood off my face and stood up straight.
Memaw frowned, but nodded. She had something else on her mind. “I’m sure you overheard my conversation with Benny.” She waited a beat for me to deny or confirm. When I did neither, she continued. “He wants to buy that trailer and Rae’s car.”
“Aren’t they part of a crime scene?” I leaned into the mirror and checked my face for any remaining blood.
“Benny says only until they finish processing it. Once they finish collecting evidence, they have to release it back to the family.”
I rummaged underneath the counter and found a bottle of cleaner. I sprayed the mirror and polished it until it gleamed. Then, I started on the sink faucet. Memaw frowned but said nothing about my compulsive cleaning.
“How do you feel about selling it?” I asked. I had no interest in ever using the trailer again. I didn’t want to get anywhere near it, to be honest.
“I want it out of here as soon as possible. Don’t want to ever see it again.” Memaw’s mouth worked, and her dark eyes filled with tears. “But you did pay half for it.”
“We could apply whatever we get to her funeral. Offset the expense.” I scrubbed toothpaste spots off a porcelain ring holder. The cleaning, as always, soothed me. “How do we find out when the sheriff’s office has released the trailer?”
“I’ll do it.” A sob distorted Memaw’s words, and she left the bathroom. A few seconds later, I heard her bedroom door close.
I went to bed, but sleep eluded me. Rae wanted her favor enough to cross the veil between the living and the dead to collect. No way in hell she’d just go away. Unless Dean Turgeau solved her murder, Rae would hound me until I did what she wanted.
Turgeau’s interest in Chase Fischer as a suspect sent icy fear through my veins. Chase flirted with the wrong side of the law before this, but nothing serious. This could get him sent to death row. Each hour that passed without a call from him solidified the lump of dread weighing me down.
5
The next morning, I started to view events as Before the Murder or After the Murder. Before the murder, things had been business as usual. That meant hard work and the occasional date for me. After the murder, I didn’t know what to do with myself.
In East Texas, life paused when a relative as close as Rae passed on. The family put their lives on hold until the funeral where they screamed and wailed and did whatever it took to say goodbye. Rae’s body was at autopsy, though, and since we didn’t know when they’d return her remains, funeral arrangements were delayed.
Meanwhile, if I didn’t take jobs when they came in, people would call someone else. Next time something came up, they might decide not to call me at all.
I told Memaw all this about six times, and she told me I needed to keep busy each time. Both of us tactfully kept our mouths shut about money. Rae had no life insurance or savings to cover a funeral.
Even so, guilt consumed me as I got ready for work. A poem by W. H. Auden mentioned stopping everything when someone died. But nothing had stopped for Rae. Life just kept marching forward with little acknowledgement she’d ever existed. I fully expected Rae’s ghost to show up and punish me for not properly observing her death. Or at least trying to solve her murder.
Problem was, I had no idea how to solve a murder. TV mysteries made it look simple, but TV lied. Someone other than Chase killed her. Beyond that, I had no idea where to begin. The way Rae died suggested she pissed off the wrong person. Her grating
insults or her attempts to con people could have done that.
I remembered our conversation about the Mace Treasure. As I told Turgeau, plenty of people—some in my own family—had died over it. While I doubted the treasure’s existence, I knew people murdered over money all the time. Money as the motive for Rae’s murder didn’t clear Chase as a suspect. He didn’t make much money to begin with. His partying made matters worse.
I searched my memory and compiled a list of people I remembered seeing at Rae’s trailer. Did I think any of them murdered her? Not really. They were just a bunch of adults who acted like teenagers. But if giving Turgeau a list of names got him off Chase’s ass, it would solve one of my worries.
Memaw cracked open the bathroom door as I brushed my teeth. I jumped and threw my toothbrush across the room. It hit the wall and splattered toothpaste all over the wallpaper. Memaw winced. I grabbed a towel to wipe up the mess.
“Don’t bother. I’ll get it later. Come out here to the living room. We’ve got company.” She shut the door and her footsteps receded down the hall.
I slid my feet into flip-flops and slapped down the hallway. The old wood creaked beneath my feet. The pictures on the wall slid past me, so familiar I didn’t need to look at them. Just knowing they were there, seeing them in my periphery, made this place home. Some were of Memaw when she and my grandfather, George, were young. A couple of pictures showed my father and his twin brother Jesse. Closer to the hallway’s end hung shots of my father and uncle with their brides, including pictures of both Rae and me as babies.
Jolene Fischer sat on the love seat picking at a cookie. Tears streaked her face.
The butterflies in my stomach danced the two-step. She was about to say something bad, and After the Murder would get even worse. I didn’t know how I could take much more.
Jolene’s voice shook when she spoke. “Have you seen Chase, baby?”
“No, ma’am,” I said. “I’ve tried to call him quite a few times. No answer.”
